


Say the Word

by UAgirl



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Family, Gen, Language, Romance, Sexual Situations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-08-21 22:24:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 4,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8262580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UAgirl/pseuds/UAgirl
Summary: A collection of drabbles, ficlets, and one shots inspired by a list of writing prompts I'm working through in my efforts to get unblocked on my other WIPs.  Multiple pairings, multiple ratings, and multiple universes.  Rated T overall.





	1. Birth

**Author's Note:**

> In his dreams, Rick kills all the prisoners on sight.

Birth

 

xxxxx

 

In his dreams, Rick kills all the prisoners on sight.

It's brutal and it's bloody and it's barbaric, but it's how it has to be. It's how they survive.

And they do survive.

Hershel lives. He breathes and he thrives, more than he has a right to really, and he's there when the baby comes.

His calm voice and Carol's careful hands deliver that little girl, see Lori through the worst of it, the blood, the sweat, and the tears.

They give him (back) the most precious gift of all (time).

In his dreams, Rick doesn't waste his second chance.

 

xxxxx


	2. Enthusiasm, Rated M

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex with Daryl is both everything she expected and nothing she expected at all.

Enthusiasm, rated M

 

xxxxx

 

Sex with Daryl is both everything she expected and nothing she expected at all.

He's all teeth and tongue and overeager hands, and Carol can only hold on through the onslaught, her nails biting into the breadth of his shoulders, her mouth open on a moan.

He covers her completely.

The softness of her breasts flat against his chest, the thundering of his heart. Her legs snaked high around his waist, ankles dragging against his firm buttocks with every clumsy thrust. The warm heart of her alive and aching, weeping as he slides down, down, down and makes good on the (unwitting) promise he made so long ago.

He has absolutely no finesse.

But Carol comes undone anyway, her fingers clenched in the sleek softness of his hair, his name and a smile on her lips. She traces the ridges of his spine with the lazy curl of her toes, soothes his scalp with gentle fingers, and shivers when she feels the tickle of his whiskers against her oversensitive skin, the callused imprint of his thumb against her hard bundle of nerves. "Again?" she breathes.

Sex with Daryl is messy, real. What he lacks in experience, he more than makes up for it with his enthusiasm, the way he gives himself completely over to her.

One look into his eyes, and Carol nods. Her skin slick with sweat and passion, she lets her fingers fall from his hair to clutch at the sheets, and her teeth pierce the tender flesh of her lip as she sighs his name, and that's all the encouragement Daryl needs. He buries his proud smile back between the willing haven of her thighs, and Carol starts to lose herself all over again.

 

xxxxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!!
> 
> Feedback is love.


	3. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A man of misplaced faith asked Carl a question once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Character death(s).

Love

***

 

A man of misplaced faith asked Carl a question once.

What is love?

Carl doesn't remember his answer. Probably, likely, he made something up. He's not one for sentiment, hasn't been for a long time. But counting the minutes that pass between each labored rise and fall of his father's bloodied chest? Watching beads of sweat coalesce and soak into the shaggy salt and pepper curls splayed over a time-stained pillow? He recalls that question, and his heavy heart speaks.

It's Sunday morning pancakes, the weight of a proud hand on his shoulder.

It's gentle fingers in his hair and a pair of scissors, the shading brim of a too-big Sheriff's hat.

Sun slants through the window, a starburst of light paints the room golden, masks the pallor of his father's skin, almost makes him look peaceful, and for a too-brief moment, Carl lets himself believe. Seconds stretch into minutes into what feels like hours, and his father's breaths rattle. They wheeze. He traces a calloused fingertip across the heavy handle of his knife, registers the cold press of metal at the small of his back, and he swallows hard, tries to clear his mind, but that question…that question won't leave him alone.

It's comic books, the last Big Cat.

It's his baby sister's head resting against his heart, the first time discovery of the North Star.

His vigil will not last much longer. Carl knows this. He lifts a hand to his face, slides his grimy, feverish fingers beneath the patch that is but an afterthought now, just another (missing) part of him, and the threadbare fabric flutters to the floor. He ignores the wetness that seeps into the dirty whorls of his skin, disregards the tremor that betrays his wavering resolve. He thinks instead of three figures disappearing over the crest of a hill, the sun at their backs. The sharp glitter glint of Michonne's katana, the hint of fire in Judith's long dark waves, and the rising tide of sadness in Carol's blue eyes as she looked back, one last time.

It's a knife to the belly, the bearing of teeth to evil's throat.

It's a bullet to the brain, the sudden, merciful plunge of a blade.

The silence lasts but a second before the shot rings out, and Carl Grimes simply ceases to be, the answer to that question finally, finally clear to him.

Love is letting go.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this. 
> 
> Who knew what should have been a fluffy prompt would turn into a multiple character death ficlet? 
> 
> Certainly not me. 
> 
> I hope you...enjoyed really is the wrong word, isn't it? Ah, well. I hope you did anyway. ;)
> 
> Feedback is love.


	4. Wrecked, Rated M:  Carol-Daryl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's a trembling, sobbing mess in his arms...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow up to Enthusiasm. Or not. You decide. Obviously, in my imagination, Carol and Daryl have the sex, lol.

Wrecked, Rated M

 

xxxxx

 

She's a trembling, sobbing mess in his arms, muscles all quivery, skin pink and baby-soft, blue eyes hazy, pretty mouth bruised.

One last nuzzle into the salty-sweet of her, a lazy drag of an absent knuckle across a tight, puckered ring of muscle, and Daryl mouths the faint dusting of freckles on her knee, cups the arch of her ticklish foot in his calloused hand, and grins at her shiver, the way her eyes follow him as he stands, his damp fingers falling to his belt.

Her fingers twitch, her tongue moistens her lips.

Daryl swears, groans. "C'mere, girl."

 

xxxxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enough of these and maybe I'll feel more comfortable diving head-first into the planned smutty parts of my WIPs. 
> 
> Feedback is love. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!!!


	5. Hate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stronger than any virus, it infects her.

Hate

 

xxx

 

Her hate grows.

It deepens.

It festers.

It seethes as the days grow long, the hours ever more restless.

It taints her thoughts, blackens her bruised heart, imprisons her within its septic arms.

Stronger than any virus, it infects her.

Until there is nothing else, nothing more, only vengeance and her sword.

Hate drives the blade faster, harder, deeper, and the Governor's brain gives like warm butter beneath Michonne's hand. His blood blooms, spreads, stains, and she falls to her knees, a feral sob tearing from her throat.

(Love keeps her alive, stalls the bullet in Andrea's loaded gun. Love.)

 

xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is love. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!


	6. Feel--Carol-Daryl, Rated M

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aka, the one with all the full body hugs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated M for language and sexual situations.
> 
> Tagging this for spoilers, just in case. It's really nothing more than my wishful thinking, haha. But one can never be too safe.

Feel 

 

xxx

 

The sun's just beginning to rise, ribbons of pink and orange threading through a lingering haze of clouds.

It's pretty. Like one of them paintings she claims to like so much, but Daryl don't pay it no mind. Don't give it a second thought. Not when he's got two arms wrapped around her. So tight he can feel every breath she takes. So close he can count every beat of her heart through his skin if he wanted to. 

(he wanted to, had done just that the night before. but there ain't time. ain't never enough goddamn time). 

Her hair's soft beneath the stubborn jut of his chin, her fingers a pale, almost painful press against the corded muscles of his forearms, and Daryl drops his mouth to her shoulder, feels her shiver as the shadow of his beard scrapes against her tender neck with his murmured confession. "Don't wanna go." 

She hums, the sound soft and strained, and lifts a hand to his head, cradles him close. 

Their fevered cheeks kiss, their tears mingle, and Daryl shudders with the effort of holding the words back, but they escape anyway. "Ask me." 

(ask me to stay).

 

xxx

 

Took the end of the fuckin' world, but Daryl finally knows what Heaven feels like. Least he's sure it's the closest he's ever gonna get. Ain't expectin' the Almighty to be waitin' for him at them gates when his time finally comes, figures the Devil and Merle probably already got his southbound ticket punched, but it ain't nothin'. Made his peace with it a long time ago, and he won't worry 'bout it no more. Not when she's everywhere. 

Her fingers tangle in his hair, anchoring him to that sweet spot, that little hollow below her throat where she smells like cinnamon and sweat. Her teeth drag across his lip, nip and nibble until he groans and surges, stealing her breath, suffocating the laughter that rumbles low in her throat, sucks at the tongue that wants to scold him, to tell him to slow down. Her knees dig into his ribs as he hitches her legs higher, buries himself so damn deep inside her he's not sure he'll ever be able to leave.

(isn't sure he would if he could because ffffuuuucccckkk). 

Daryl's desperation fades away, and his world narrows to the warm clench of her sex, the soft, searching blue of her eyes, and he whines, drops his forehead to the curve of her neck as his toes dig into the worn mattress, his knees scramble for purchase.

Her heel slides across the swell of his buttocks, across the back of his thigh, and her legs widen, welcome him. Her sweet mouth falls open on a silent sob with his first shallow thrust. Her hips start to softly rise and fall, the rhythm stuttering only when he palms her slick back, rolls them both over, splays her across his heaving chest. Her hands grip his shoulders, cup his face when he sits up beneath her, wraps his arms around her back. 

(just holds her. close. feels the fierce beat of her heart through his skin. counts the breaths she struggles to take as emotion overwhelms her. hell. overwhelms him. and he nuzzles the soft swell of her breast, growls her name against her skin, looks up at her with his miserable goddamn heart in his eyes). 

Her mouth trembles against his own. It pleads as, deeper and deeper, they fall. "Don't." 

 

xxx

 

Candlelight flickers across her face as she watches him eat his dinner, warm and forgiving as the night shadows start to fall. 

(the trick of light makes her look like she did back at the Prison. soft. open. the prettiest thing Daryl ever did see with his own two eyes. 'specially when she smiled. but she don't smile no more. least not with her eyes. that's the thing bothers him the most). 

Daryl's fingers tear off another hunk of bread, mop up some of the broth in his bowl, and he sneaks glances at her through the dark fringe of his hair. "S'good." 

She huffs at his praise, rewards him with a little smirk as she stands to clear her side of the table. The dishes clink together in the small sink, the water spits indignantly from the spout as she rinses them. "Must be. That's your third helping." 

Daryl ducks his head guiltily, and the soft bread seems to swell in his throat, choke off his air supply, and for a moment, for the briefest of seconds, not even the wink of a candle really, he's back in that cold cell and the food settles like a stone in his gut. His bowl scrapes loudly against the table as he pushes it away, and those blue eyes are narrowing in concern as they glance back at him. 

She sighs. "I didn't mean anything by it, Daryl. Eat as much as you want. There's more than enough." 

He tucks his chin to his chest, shrugs his shoulders, and gathers her apology and care close. "S'alright. Should be goin'. Overstayed my welcome." He stands up too quickly, has to steady his chair beneath hands that won't stop shaking, and makes a grab for the coat they outfitted him with at the Kingdom. 

(what kind of fuckin' name was that anyway? kingdom? pfft.) 

Her hand fits over his, warm and reassuring, and she's close, closer to him than she's been in a long damn time. "Really, Daryl. There's more than enough. It's just me." 

He stares into her eyes, watches the reflection of the orange flames there as they shift and dance, and he turns his hand over, presses their palms together. Doesn't miss the nervous working of her throat as she swallows. "Is it?" The question hangs heavy between them, and he can tell the exact moment she makes her choice, decides to quit tiptoeing 'round this. Them. And all they were. All they could be. A fine tremor still moves through his other hand as he lifts it, combs it through her silver hair, gently tugs her close, closer still until his forehead is resting against hers and their noses are touching. "It really just you?"

(the answer is lost when their lips finally touch. don't much matter anyway. time's somethin' Daryl's stopped takin' for granted). 

 

xxx

 

The door to the little yellow house opens, and Daryl doesn't give her time to say anything, doesn't give himself time to do anything but feel. He pulls Carol into his arms, holds her like he's never going to let go. 

(he's finally home). 

 

xxx

 

Mistakes are all mine. 

Feedback is love. 

Thanks so much for reading!

P.S. In case you didn't figure it out, the story is told in reverse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is love. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!


	7. Rebirth--Glenn-Maggie (sort of)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It rains the day their son is born.

Rebirth

 

xxxxx

 

It rains the day their son is born.

Like morning dewdrops, it clings to the ends of Enid's long hair, drips in silver streams from the butt of Sasha's rifle as she lifts it over her head.

Soft and gentle and warm, it washes the ugly world outside new, makes it shine.

Enid nestles close, traces a shy fingertip across the newborn's nose. "His nose…"

"Beth's nose," Maggie solemnly interrupts her.

Sasha palms a tiny foot, and her other hand finds Maggie's own.

"Daddy's name. Glenn's…"

The baby's eyes flutter, find her. Stare.

"Maggie?"

"He's got Glenn's, his daddy's, eyes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is love. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!


	8. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. I don’t know what this is, but it practically wrote itself so I’m not going to complain. 
> 
> What if Carol went to Daryl after the events of “The Same Boat”? 
> 
> This is where my brain went.

Broken

________________________________________

 

She comes to him in the night. 

Not like he’s sleeping anyway. He’s counting heartbeats, breaths, how many times he’s almost lost her to this cruel world, and the shadows all look like monsters. The ones from his past, the ones that walk the dying world they keep holding at arms’ length, the ones that live inside them. 

She comes to him without a word. 

Moonlight paints her body’s pain pale, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. In their blue, he sees too many lost souls, little girls and boys that escaped this Hell on Earth with tiny jagged pieces of her heart in their small hands. In their wet shimmer, he sees himself as she sees him. A lifeline of last resort. An anchor to the hope she’s so desperately trying to hold on to. 

She comes to him bare. 

Her touch is there, but not there. Still, his battered body craves the promised oblivion just as much, and he’s weak. Always has been. ‘Specially for her. Merle seen it. Rick. All the rest of them. God knows she’s seen it, and there are ghosts in this bed. Of what they were, of what they could have been, of what they still could be, but fuck. He’s only human, and his flesh responds. His body comes alive, even while she starts to splinter, scatter into the seductive darkness. 

She comes to him. 

His hand burns a trail up the bow of her back, his thick fingers find her curls, bring her to his chest, and his lips brush across her smooth forehead. Over and over. Until the first salty tears slide from her cheek to his, and he soaks up her sadness. Tries to swallow her sins. “Shh.” He traces her ribs, traces her scars, traces the life’s blood that still beats beneath her skin, a little unsteady but there even now, and they ain’t ashes, but they’re burning. They’re burning, and he’s not going to let her get consumed. “I know you. You got to feel it, too.” 

She comes to him broken but beautiful. 

But that’s okay. Because he’s broken, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is love. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!


	9. Longing--Carol-Daryl (spoilers for 7.10)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don’t mind me. I’m just working out some Caryl feels by reimagining that second hug/their goodbye. 
> 
> Supposed she’d called out his name, one last time. 
> 
> You know he’d come back, right? Whatever. Put on Shae’s shipper goggles and bask in the loving angst, hahaha.

Longing

________________________________________

 

“Daryl.” Her voice breaks over his name, soft and tremulous, and suddenly, he’s there again. Right there, wrapping his strong arms around her, pressing his forehead against hers, and she can feel the wet flutter of his eyelashes against her skin as her own name is lost in the breath between them. “I…” 

“Shh. Don’t. Just…” 

His nose nuzzles gently against her own, seeking, and his fingertips paint promises along the lines of her back, his rough hands sweep along her collarbones, cup her jaw. The sob rises like a cresting wave from the deepest parts of her until he swallows it down, pours his hopes, his regrets, and his bittersweet lies into his kiss, and love stirs inside of her, fierce and fragile, licks and smolders until it is a tiny, growing flame. “I can’t go with you. Not yet. I want to.” 

“Know. S’okay.” 

His eyes are a glittering blue in the darkness, his heart a thundering beacon of home beneath her palms, and she tucks her tears and her pleading words into the curve of his neck. She kisses him there, holds him, breathes him in, and finally, lets him go. She smiles. “Stay safe.” 

“Still got a few lives left.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is love. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!


	10. Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your choice whether you read as friendship or something more. 
> 
> "I know how the safety works."

Acceptance 

________________________________________

“I know how the safety works.” 

The door closes behind Rick, behind Daryl, and Andrea’s brave face crumples. Just for a minute. Just for a few seconds, really, and Michonne’s hand covers hers, stills the gun in her hand. “You don’t have to do it.” 

Andrea’s eyes glitter with heat, brim with pain, soften. “I do, and you have to let me.” 

Sobs keep building behind Michonne’s trembling lips, rising and cresting as powerful as any ocean’s waves. Blood slicks her fingers, warm and rich. Works its insidious way beneath her fingernails and stains her skin. “Andrea, I…” 

“Me, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always welcome. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!


	11. Feelings--Carol-Daryl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can be read as a follow-up to Fireworks. Or not. Your choice. No real need to read the other story prior to this one, though. Unless you want to. 
> 
> This is just some sweet almost smut. Well, nowhere near smut. It’s emotionally smutty, though, lol. Whatever that even means.

Feelings

________________________________________

 

Sometimes, he counts her freckles in the shimmering candlelight, trailing his knuckles over them until she is shivery and sweet in his arms, sighing with need against his mouth, and it’s like the room is filled with thousands of Ass Kicker’s fireworks, little sparks catching fire on the air, in his blood, in hers. 

Tangled together in sheets that smell like the Virginia sun, she kisses him. It’s (almost) always her. She slides her arms around his neck, her fingers sift through his hair, and she smiles. Her eyes shine, chase away the shadows and old doubts, and she whispers soft assurances in his ear, nuzzles his scruff, blesses his scars with her loving touch. 

But sometimes, he kisses her. He sweeps her into his strong arms, settles his calloused hands low on her back, strokes them up and down her supple thighs, and lifts the corner of his mouth into a tiny smirk as they start up a slow-dance of skin on skin. They sparkle like the nighttime stars, crescendo and shatter like a burning supernova, and he swallows her sighs and her screams. He gentles her into sleepy submission, surrenders to its promise himself, and he feels, so many things he still cannot say. It doesn’t matter, never does with her. 

Because she kisses him, murmurs a solemn, “Me, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback would be lovely. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!!!


	12. Bullet--Rick-Michonne (with Rick-Lori undertones)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one’s a little weird, you guys. I’m not particularly fond of it, but I’m trying to get the words flowing again, and this is what came to mind when I read this prompt. 
> 
> My brain goes strange places sometimes, hahaha. 
> 
> Anyway. Weird or not, I hope you enjoy it. It’s not my best stuff, but hopefully, it’s a jumping off point to getting back in the swing of things.

Bullet

________________________________________

 

Strong arms slide around him from behind, and he feels the warm press of her forehead against the nape of his neck, the butterfly brush of her lips along his spine as she greets him with sleepy, indistinct murmurs, and his eyes flutter close. His fingers curl around the cool, burnished surface of the object in his hand, and he sighs. “Sleep alright?” 

“Mmm. Could have been better.” 

“How so?” The question is as soft as the rising morning sun outside their bedroom window, but she hears it. She hears it, and she places a kiss between his shoulder blades, gives his arm a tug and pulls him around to face her, and those dark eyes of hers, so wise and full of emotion, study his face. 

“You weren’t there.” 

His gaze and his shoulders lower. “Yeah.” 

“Rick.” Michonne’s warm fingers circle his wrist, and she frowns when his fingers unfurl. “A bullet?” 

“Found it the other day. Thought it’d been lost.” 

“I don’t understand.” His eyes cloud over, grow glassy and a little bit wild as a million and one emotions start to brew beneath their surface, and her other hand lifts to his face, soothes his fretful brow. “Tell me.” 

“It’s Judith’s birthday soon.” 

The comment feels like a deflection, but she allows it, even indulges it. “How could I forget?” How indeed, when the little girl she has grown to love as her own reminds them every second of every day, her excitement practically bubbling out of her, and who could blame her really? “Carol promised her cake. I’m just as excited as she is.” The attempt at humor falls a little flat, and the smile on her mouth trembles with worry. “Rick.” 

“It’s Judith’s birthday soon, and I found this. I thought it’d been lost, but it wasn’t, and it’s the only thing…” He swallows, but the words are still difficult to get out. “It’s the only thing left.” 

Realization has her weaving her fingers through the curls of his hair and bringing his forehead down to rest against her own, breathing out her name. “Lori. It’s the bullet that Carl…” 

“Yeah.” He holds his regrets close, but he holds his second chances even closer, and he nuzzles her nose with his own. “You’re the only mother she’s ever known. She loves you, and I know you love her.” 

Michonne gifts him with a smile that’s soft with knowing. “It’s okay. It is. Judith’s got enough room in her heart for all of us. What you said. You were wrong. Maggie. Beth. Carol. Me. Every last one of us have taken our turns being that little girl’s mother. But you were right, too. It’s time she heard about the mama that loved her first.” 

The worry lines in his face smooth out, and his eyes start to clear. His thumb rubs over the smooth surface of the bullet again, and he slips it back inside his pants pocket. He kisses her and smiles. “Thank you.” 

“Come back to bed.” 

He does, and they sleep. 

A week later, Judith lets little Hershel help her blow out her birthday candles and generously offers Daryl the first piece of cake. She grins as Carl slips the thin necklace over her neck, and she fingers the hollowed-out bullet that rests over her beating heart with fascination as her daddy and the rest of her family take turns telling her a story about love. About sacrifice. About a mama named Lori.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback would be lovely. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!


	13. Morning--Carol-Daryl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning dawns soft, pale light spilling through the parted curtains and soaking into the rumpled bedsheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look. Shae decided to put Carol and Daryl in bed together again, lol. 
> 
>  
> 
> I’m afraid this isn’t as smutty as that little teaser makes it sound, but I hope you like it anyway. 
> 
>  
> 
> No real timeline on this. You can call it post Season 7 or future fic, whatever you want. Your choice.

Morning 

________________________________________

 

Morning dawns soft, pale light spilling through the parted curtains and soaking into the rumpled bedsheets. 

It’s quiet in his little piece of home. Peaceful, and for the moment, still. Only her breath stirs, gentle and sweet against his neck. Her fingers rest over his heart, stars pointing the way home, and her leg curls across the tops of his thighs, lazy and content. Close. 

Daryl noses the silver hair of her temple, traces the inward curl of her shoulder when she sighs herself to wakefulness, and it’s a small thing, an impulse both monumental and ordinary that overtakes him when he’s rewarded with that first glimpse of hazy blue. But his fingers find the back of her head, and with the barest of nudges, he tastes her sleepy smile. 

With careful tenderness, they greet the brave new morning. Trading affection with lips that whisper and cling, with hands that slide beneath bedclothes and search for the warm skin hidden beneath. And like the sun gradually rising higher in the sky, their touches grow bolder and before long, it’s just the two of them. No more barriers. No more excuses. No more waiting for the sky to fall. Just Daryl and Carol, finally. 

And he whines against her collarbones when she shifts over him, the warm cradle of her thighs almost too much. He mouths the freckles that paint her skin, blazes a path from her graceful neck to the valley between her small breasts. He nuzzles the faint constellations across her ribs, the well of her belly button, the flare of her hips, and his rough hands hold her still, make her laugh. Make her smile, breathless and bright as she tangles her strong fingers in the softness of his hair and pulls his mouth back to her own. 

Morning dawns soft, pale light spilling through the parted curtains and soaking into the rumpled bedsheets, chasing away the shadows and the regrets that don’t matter anymore and there’s peace, because this was inevitable. Foretold on a long stretch of Georgia highway when a little girl was lost. Maybe even before that. But there’s passion, too. So much between them that they’re burning. Burning. And it’s good. It’s better than good. It’s fucking everything. 

She’s fucking everything. Has been for a long time now, and she should know. But Daryl ain’t never been much for words, not when showing does the talking so much better, and he takes her face between the cradle of his hands. Slows their kisses down, until they are lazy and sweet again. Just his breath mingling with hers, their foreheads touching and her fingers sliding softly against his scarred skin, and shit if his heart doesn’t still feel like it’s going to beat straight through from his skin to hers. “Hey.” 

First her blue sky eyes smile. Then her lips curl and press against his own, in gentle contentment, and her arms wind around his neck, hold on. And she understands. Course, she does. “Me, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is love. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!!!


End file.
